Improper Pleasure

by Charlotte Featherstone

  “I have Tuesday mornings off, my lord. I don’t begin my duties for another hour.”

  “And where do you go on your mornings off,” he snarled, prowling about the room.

  “I…I…” she swallowed, unable to speak. “I usually walk.”

  “Where?”

  “Different places, I suppose.”

  “And do you meet a lover in secret, then?”

  “No, my lord.”

  Liar, he wanted to hiss, but he refrained, trying to curb the temper that was threatening to erupt.

  “What of the odd dalliance, then? Do you engage in them?” She bristled but stood steadfast in her denial, fueling his already irrational anger. “Did I offend you with my accusation? Are you above raising your skirts for strangers, then?”

  “My lord, really—”

  “As your employer I have a measure of responsibility toward you. I’m only curious, you see. What exactly do you do with your Tuesday mornings?”

  “I walk, my lord, and…look at things.”

  “Things?” he sneered. “What things, Miss Cartwright? Do you mean men? Do you look at men and wonder what it would be like to lure them with your body. Do you offer them a sample of your abundant charms? Tell me, have you fucked any of these men on your mornings off?”

  She blushed and looked away. “My lord, my duties here have always been performed with—”

  “Speaking of duties,” he snapped, cutting her off, “I understand that you have resigned your post here, Miss Cartwright.”

  Her gaze dropped to her hands which were folded very primly and properly before her. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Are you not happy here? Is the position not to your liking? Have you been mistreated?”

  “No, my lord,” she said quickly. “I have never been hap—that is to say, this has been a very satisfactory experience.”

  “Satisfactory?” he croaked. “If it has been so bloody satisfactory then why do you wish to leave?”

  She was breathing heavily, but seemed to be in control. And that angered him all the more. She knew who she had shared that morning with at Highgate. She knew it was him. Damn her, how could she so easily dismiss that? How could it be so easy to walk away from something that had meant so much to him?

  “Is it me? Have I done something to make you wish to leave?” She shook her head, and he growled. “You know nothing of me if you think I will let you just walk away.”

  “It is not as though maids are not a dime a dozen, my lord.”

  “I don’t want another maid.” He came to stand before her and she stiffened, trying to step away from him, but he reached for her and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. Brushing the cuff of her sleeve back toward her wrist with his thumb, he saw the cluster of freckles that lay hidden beneath the starched muslin.

  Slowly, he lifted his gaze to her face, his stomach churning uncomfortably. Damn her, she knew who he was. He had not concealed his features with a veil. He had not hidden anything from her. And yet she had stood before him acting as though they had never met, never talked, never touched.

  Rage made his breathing hard and he fought it, barely able to see anything other than that day at Highgate, when he had desired her so bloody much. When he had talked of himself and allowed her the briefest glimpse into his soul. ighbury, his mouth Was she amused by him whenever she thought of that day at the cemetery? Was she mocking him now, secretly laughing at him, remembering how much of a damned fool he had been?

  With lightening speed, he shackled her wrist and captured it ruthlessly in his hand. Before she could think of getting away, he reached for her, bringing her back against the door, pinning her against the wood with his chest and thighs. His hand skimmed over her hip while he turned the key in the lock with a soft but determined click.

  She whimpered. In fear. In longing. He didn’t know, and didn’t particularly care. Tightening his fingers on her waist, he brought her ever so slightly closer to him. He saw her eyes go round, felt the rush of hot air as she released a pent-up breath. He was aware that her fingers held a death grip on her skirts.

  “I know everything about you, Amelia,” he whispered darkly. “Everything.”

  Her gaze flashed to his. “Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “It is better left unsaid.”

  Ignoring her plea, he slowly ran his fingertip down the column of her neck, noticing how flushed and warm her skin was. “I know that Tuesday mornings you have some free time to spend however you wish, and that you enjoy long walks in secluded spots.”

  The color left her face but she amazingly held her gaze steady on him. “I think you must be mistaken, my lord.”

  “Highgate Cemetery? A foggy morning, standing in the drizzling rain?” he murmured, watching as his finger caressed the pounding pulse in her throat. “You pleasured me and I came in your hand, remember?”

  She started to deny it, but he pressed his fingers into her wrist. “I know, Amelia. Now I just want to know why you won’t admit it.”

  Why she didn’t want him? She was abandoning him after the most beautiful, intimate encounter he had ever experienced, and Christ, how he despised the feelings of abandonment. How he loathed to admit that weakness in his makeup.

  His palm slid from her waist to her breast until he cupped her in his hand. He pressed forward so that his chest flattened against her and the side of his face nestled against her neck. His gaze flickered up from her throat to her face. Her head was tilted to the side, her eyes closed behind the lenses of her spectacles, her lips, pouting and pink were parted slightly. He parted them more as he rubbed his finger along her lower lip. “I know what you need,” whispered. “I can give it you, Amelia. Just let me.”

  “No, please don’t.” She shook her head, whispering the word no again, as she pressed herself against the unyielding wood behind her. Any space that was between them, he closed when he pressed his chest tightly to hers.

  “I knew what you needed that day in the cemetery. I know the depth of passion you keep hidden beneath this prim veneer. I know that beneath your protests, you secretly yearn.”

  “Please, stop—just stop!”

  “I waited for you this morning. I stood in the rain and waited for you to come to me. Why?” he growled. “Why didn’t come, Emmy?”

  She gasped at the sound of her secret name. When she looked away from him, refusing to answer his questions, he reached into his jacket and removed the slip of black lace he carried with him. The same lace he removed in order to press his lips against her bounding pulse that day at Highgate. “Tell me why you still insist on hiding behind the veil when I already know it was you. I’ve always known, Amelia, from the minute my carriage stopped in the lane and I saw you standing in that sunbeam, I’ve known it was you.”

  “I am a servant,” she said, her voice almost inaudible. “I couldn’t let you find out.”

  “How much will it take for you to stay?”

  She tilted her head and studied him with her shrewd, intelligent eyes. Eyes that burned a hole right through him from behind the lenses of her spectacles. “Is this some sort of game to you, my lord?”

  “Was it only just a game to you, Emmy?”

  “I don’t play games, my lord. I have never laughed at you, despite what you may think. I never intentionally set out to mislead you.”

  “How much?”

  “I am not for sale, my lord,” she shrilled, her eyes blazing with indignation. “Now, then, goodbye.”

  It was not merely a goodbye, excusing herself for an hour, or the evening. It felt like a goodbye that was forever. He could not stand to hear it.

  “What is your price?” he rasped. “Tell me. I will pay it. With gold, with my body. Whatever it is you want.”

  “I may be just a servant, my lord, but I am not a whore. I won’t sell my body.”

  “But what of Emmy? Would she sell her body? Would she fuck me now, up against this door? Because I would have her that way. Right now.”

  “Is Emmy who you want?”
He detected a sadness in her voice, before she steeled her shoulders and lifted her chin in defiance. “Of course, she is. Emmy is a woman of mystery, someone you can pretend is suitable to someone of your station. Or perhaps you pretended that I was beautiful, or maybe you just liked the power of getting off with someone who is beneath you.”

  “For Christ sake’s, Amelia—”

  “Is that what you meant when you said, I empowered you? It made you feel strong to tumble the plain housemaid, to discover her most carefully hidden secrets? Did you laugh at me then, while I was serving you your tea? Did you find it amusing to think upon how easily I fell into your arms while you were watching me make your fucking bed?” His breath hissed through his lips and he dropped her wrist as if he had been burned. “Did it ever occur to you, my lord, that while you were getting off playing your grand game of Master and Servant, that you were toying with the only happiness I have ever known in my pathetic existence?”

  “Amelia, please, this is not how I wanted this discussion to be.”

  “I resign my post, effective immediately. I’ll not give you two weeks notice. You don’t deserve it. I’m leaving now and I’ll take nothing from you. Not the wages owed to me nor a reference. I want nothing from you.”

  “You cannot just leave. Where will you go? Amelia—”

  She wheeled on him, her eyes flashing fury. “Do you want to know the worst part of all this? It’s the pain that comes when I think of how I allowed myself to believe in you. That I permitted myself to think that you might actually desire me. I didn’t go to Highgate today, because I feared that perhaps you might…have begun to care for Emmy. I could not do that to you, to engage your feelings knowing I was just a servant. I didn’t want to keep betraying you. Ironic isn’t it, how I cared for you when you obviously didn’t give a bloody toss about me.”

  Chapter Six

  Water trickled down her arms and over her shoulder, running in streaming rivulets down her back. Her nipples tightened, crinkling beneath the thin chemise. Dipping the sponge into the basin, Amelia wrung out the excess and brought the sponge to her throat, squeezing the water down her neck, soaking the front of her shift so that the fabric clung to her breasts.

  The water had grown cold as she sat before her dressing table. In a daze, she repeated the motions of the sponge bath, lost in thought, drowning in pain.

  What was he doing now? Laughing at her? Her, a plain little peahen, desiring someone like him, a handsome and wealthy earl. What a simpleton she had been to let him in, to speak of things she could barely even admit to herself. He had used her, had made her feel small and insignificant—invisible.

  “Amelia?”

  Jumping at the sound of his voice, the sponge dropped from her hand and splashed into the basin. The door of her room clicked quietly shut, it was followed by the sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor.

  He stood behind her and Amelia felt his heat warming her back. His hands rested on her shoulders, and she stiffened, feeling her eyes immediately flood with tears. She would not cry before him. Never again would she allow herself to be vulnerable.

  “Will you not look at me?”

  Reluctantly she turned her head so that she faced the small mirror that sat atop her dressing table and there he was, his reflection shining back at her. He bent down so that his face was even with hers and she watched him close his eyes as he pressed his cheek against her temple.

  “I brought these for you. I had them with me at Highgate. I…wanted you to have them.”

  “Another bribe?” she asked bitterly, turning away from the image of them together in the mirror.

  “Amelia—”

  “There is nothing more to be said, my lord. I may be a servant but I have my pride. That pride cannot be purchased. And yes, I may be poor as a church mouse, but I’m not so poorly off that I need to consider bartering my sex for your amusement.”

  He nodded, then slowly stood. He turned to leave, then stopped, took her face in his hands and brushed his mouth against her lips. “It was never a game to me, Amelia. Never. You’ve never been just an amusement to me.”

  “What was it then?”

  “Perfection.” Such a simple word and said with such stunning honesty. Amelia could not help but turn her face up to him in wonder. “It was everything to me, Amelia. Every day spent with you meant so much. And not just at Highgate. I have wanted you since the moment you came into my study to interview for the position. Do you think me so shallow that I would not see you behind your uniform and spectacles? I did look, Amelia. And I thought—think—you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. You have a gift of giving me something I could never buy myself and that makes you a woman of incredible wealth and beauty to me.”

  “What gift is this that you speak of?”

  “The gift of being myself. There are no courtly airs with you, no pretences. I am just myself. Something I have never felt comfortable being with any woman other than you. If you don’t believe me, at least open the package on the bottom. Perhaps then you might have some understanding of how I feel about you and what we’ve shared.”

  It was agony waiting for her to decide, and when Adrian feared she would not agree to his request, he turned and walked away, his heart bleeding in his chest. When he reached the door, the sound of her weeping forced him to stop. Looking back at her, he saw that she held his gift in her hands and that she was looking down at the burgundy leather, crying.

  “This can never be. How can you want someone like me? I cannot even read,” she choked, then looked up at him. “I only pretended to, that day you saw me in the cemetery.”

  “Emmy,” he said, not knowing whether to go to her, or stay away. What did she need from him? What did she want?

  “I am not ashamed of what I am,” she sniffed. “I am a domestic. I am not humiliated that I must work for my survival. I am honest and hardworking and take pride in doing my job well. There is no shame in that. But I knew the kind of thoughts I had about you were not proper. And I knew that what I was doing at Highgate was not right. But I had to discover, you see, what it would be like to be with you. To experience what it was like to be touched by your beautiful hands. I am ashamed to admit that I willingly misled you. I let you think I was a stranger to you, when I knew I was only just your servant. You asked why I did not come to Highgate today, and the reason was that I have allowed myself to think of the future. To ask myself, ‘what if’? I understand there can no be future, and so I did not go this morning, and I resigned because I felt I could not see you every day and not yearn for what we had at Highgate.”

  He walked to her and crouched down before her. She looked away as she swiped at her tears, but he took her chin and turned her so that she was looking at him.

  “If you cannot read, Amelia, how were you able to recite that poem at Highgate?”

  Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath. “I was listening to you and your sister one evening. I was taking away the tea things. I took my time so I could listen, and as I stood at the table, I closed my eyes and listened to the poems as you read them. I memorized a few of them, and when I finally opened my eyes, I saw your reflection in the mirror. You were looking at me, and I thought…that is…I fancied that perhaps you might have been saying those words to me.”

  “I was. It’s only ever been you that has seen beneath the mask I wear.”

  She looked at him through her spectacles, and he smiled, his heart finally feeling as though it were done bleeding. “This book, Amelia, is a collection of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poems.”

  “I am sorry I cannot read it.”

  He took the book from her and set it atop her dressing table. Then he reached for the bun at the back of her head and pulled a pin free. Amelia allowed him the intimacy of letting down her hair. Slowly, one by one he pulled the pins from the tight bun at the back of her head. He placed each one on the table beside him before returning to pull the next free. She felt the heavy bun begin to loosen, felt the fi
rst curling tendrils slip forward so that it tickled her ears, then her chin.

  Closing her eyes, she breathed heavily as his fingers raked through her hair, loosening the bun. “Curls,” he said with surprise. “I never would have guessed it, you pull it so severely back that you give the illusion that it is straight. And so long,” he murmured as he brushed some of her hair over her shoulder. “It goes to your waist.”

  His hands smoothed over her hair, and she watched as he studied the strands in the glow of the firelight as they slid between his fingers. When his gaze slid up to hers, she felt her breath hitch and her breasts push against the wet muslin of her shift. She was exposed, almost as if she were naked. Her hair was unbound and hanging over her back. No man had ever seen her hair down. In fact, she rarely saw it down herself.

  As if she were watching it all in a dream, she saw Adrian’s hands leave her hair, then come up to capture the sides of her face. His thumbs stroked her jaw, then her bottom lip, only to slide up her cheeks and rest against the arms of her spectacles.

  “Please, no,” she said breathlessly, not wanting the last of her armor to fall away. She did not want to feel this naked with him, this exposed. The cool metal slid down her nose, then away from her face. Unable to bear it, she looked at him, wondering what he was thinking.

  “You said you were nobody,” he whispered, tracing his thumbs over her lids, then caressing her lashes with the tips of his fingers. “But I see someone of worth sitting before me. I see someone worthy of being seen.”

  She looked away, but he caught her chin in his fingers and turned her to look at him. “Speak to me, Amelia.”

  “What are you thinking?” She asked, fearing his answer. “This very moment, what is running through your mind?”

  “I am thinking how much of a challenge you are going to be to paint. How any artist would love to be able to recreate the brilliance in your eyes? I am wondering how I will be able to capture the intelligence, the sensuality I see in them.” Pressing forward he tilted his face up to hers and looked down into her eyes. “I am thinking how easy it would be for a man to become obsessed with you—how very easy it would be for me to be consumed by you.”